Dead Inside
by RussoGermany
Summary: Steve was courageous, dependable, responsible,and reassuring...on the outside. On the inside, he is broken, suffering, and scared. Steve's PTSD and insomnia are driving him deeper into his depression. Can Tony, the only person who knows that darkness, save Steve before it's too late? Rated M for language, self-harm, and later. Stony. Set after movie.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: I DO NOT own the Avengers.**_

_**A/N: Hello! This is my first Stony fiction ever (random applause here)! Stony is my OTP, and I've been really excited to start working on this story for a long time. So, I hope you will enjoy it as much as I have! So, saving the rest of my ranting for the end of the chapter, please READ, REVIEW, FAVORITE, and enjoy! Here's chapter 1:**_

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The blinding light relentlessly assaulted Steve's eyes as he attempted to survey his vaguely familiar surroundings. He lifted his arm up in front of his eyes in a futile attempt to block out the glare that obscured his view. Steve closed his eyes, hoping to secure a quick retreat from the ever advancing light, but he soon opened them as he discovered that the light had begun to fade. Seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes seemed to drag on forever as new ones were added to the ever-increasing counter. Vaguely in the distance, Steve could make out a small dark blot that dotted the horizon with its simple presence. Beyond that, he could not discern any other landmark, geographical feature, or occupant of the same space. His surroundings remained the same, sterile white color that he had been subjected to since he was dropped into this place. How Steve got there, he had no idea. All he knew was that he had to get out of this false paradise. He had to break free somehow, and the blonde had a gut feeling that the opaque object that was no more than a mere speck was his only hope of escaping this seemingly endless place. Steve took a step, searching for the ground beneath his feet, and finding a surprisingly soft substance tickle his bare feet. It was at that moment that the supersoldier finally decided to observe his own body, assessing the changes that he had gone through. To Steve's dismay, he was completely bare. His face flushed red as he realized that the only thing that his gaze was met with was the familiar sight of his own somewhat tan skin, which was giving off a lighter appearance due to the white light surrounding his entire being. Upon further speculation, Steve's embarrassment was lessened, due to the fact that there appeared to be no one around him. However, he wasn't entirely sure as to what the object was in the distance. So Steve turned in the direction of his destination, and he set off once again.

As the supersoldier made headway on his journey, faint sounds started to materialize around him in various forms. They started off cheery, with light music and laughter. No matter how hard he searched though, he could not locate a source of the sound. The only thing he could see other than the light was his waypoint. The blonde quickly shook off this slightly unnerving thought, and he continued on. As he followed his path, Steve could hear more sounds come out of thin air. They were sounds that were easily recognizable. The music and laughter from before only grew stronger as he progressed, until he reached a point where the blonde could tangibly make out every single word that reached his ear drums, and the melodies that accompanied them. Steve could pick out one of his favorite songs that he recognized from the 1940's after a minute or two. He let out a small laugh as he recollected a particular memory associated with the first time he heard the song. The memory wasn't exactly happy, but it couldn't be classified as sad either. If Steve could assign a single feeling to the thought, it was embarrassment. As the music continued, Steve envisioned himself back in a bar in Brooklyn. The song came on the radio, and its sound echoed off the cold walls of the brick building, accompanied by the clinking of various beer mugs and martini glasses. All of the dames were sitting up at the bar, tantalizing the young men and enticing them to buy a girl a drink. Some of them would wake up in the morning with a severe hangover, and an empty wallet. However, Steve wouldn't fit in this boat. Steve was sitting at a corner table with Bucky, having a laugh and sharing a drink or two. Steve could remember Bucky egging him on to go ask one of the beautiful women hanging around the joint if they wanted to dance. Steve knew he had no skill whatsoever in dancing, so he had begged Bucky to leave it at a drink. As he approached a brunette, Steve collided with a passing bar employee who happened to be carrying a tray that was full of food. The tray fell all over Steve, decorating him with crisp pieces of lettuce, and shoestring fries. Ketchup spots dotted his shirt, and he was pretty sure that he had gotten a tiny amount of mustard down his pants. As Steve looked at Bucky, all he saw was the brunette rolling on the floor, trying desperately to breathe as his face was rapidly turning red. Steve remembered exactly what Bucky had said that day too.

"Steve, when I said you have to look appetizing, I meant you need to look appealing. I didn't mean actually look like you want someone to eat you!"

Steve froze. He didn't think that at all. The blonde only knew that in his memories Bucky had spoken to him. But this was different. Before he could remember the statement, he heard the voice. Steve began to tear up. He knew Bucky was dead. He remembered the last mission that they went on together. And just now, Steve was almost one hundred percent sure he had just heard Bucky's voice. He knew it wasn't the voice in his head that was the manifestation of his memories of Bucky. No, this voice that he had heard actually sounded like the physical, completely real, genuine Bucky that Steve had come to know as his best friend. Steve frantically searched for the source once again, but the nagging at the back of his mind told him that once again his search was futile. Steve debated calling out into the light to see if there would be a reply, but yet again, he knew that there would be no reply. The disembodied laughter had ceased. The area was silent once again. Hesitation started to claw at Steve, but he fought against it and once again headed towards the seemingly closer object on the horizon. Like before, once he had made more progress, he heard noises. But this time, the feel of the surface beneath his feet had also changed. Instead of the softness he felt before, Steve could feel something that resembled a dirt road, with the soil padding his step only slightly. Steve intently waited for the noises to accompany the new scene, but instead of the myriad of noises occurring like they did before, only one came. It was soft at first, but the volume steadily increased. Once he could determine what it was, Steve had decided that this new noise was a full voice. However, it was not one like the voice he thought he heard that belonged to Bucky. This voice was sweeter, softer, more welcoming than the other voice. This new voice had a thick accent, but it was not a Brooklyn accent like Bucky's. No, this one was not an American accent at all. Steve tried to pinpoint exactly what it was that he heard, and once he had, a single tear began to form in his eye. British.

Peggy.

Steve began to panic. He could hear her voice, and he could see her in his head. But oh how he wished that he could see her in front of him one last time. Once again, he knew this was impossible, for too much time had passed between the two eras in which he lived. Steve was the soldier out of time, and he knew that Peggy was his past. Steve knew that he would never see her again. His past, his love of his life, the woman he held dear to his heart, was gone for good. Steve spent a few minutes stationary, just so that he could listen to her voice one last time. He knew that there would be no turning back once he had decided to go on, so he wanted to indulge in one of his deepest desires. He wanted to hold her once again, and Steve regretted every day that he couldn't have taken Peggy out some other time. Sometime before his "heroic actions" would have been ideal. Peggy could have taught Steve how to dance. She could teach him what it felt like to be part of a real family. Instead, all he was left with was a ghost of the sensation of her full, red lips pressed against his as the wind rushed through her hair. That was the last time he saw Peggy, and that thought alone brought up all of the regrets buried inside Steve Rogers. As Steve lingered in the area, the pain and suffering brought on by his long-broken heart was becoming increasingly unbearable. Steve turned to run. He aimed to get as far away from his past as possible. He no longer wanted to be held down by the sorrow that was welling within him. But that was the least of his worries.

Steve ran towards the horizon, focusing only on the object of his interest. He tried to drown out all of his surroundings, and everything that was tempting him off of the path that he was currently taking. The blonde ignored all temptations, all of his tormentors, and he soon found that he could no longer trust his sense of hearing. He clasped his hands over his ears as he continued on, but he was only met with the defeating fact that the voices seemed to penetrate through the shield he had attempted to put up. It wasn't so much that the sound broke through the makeshift barrier that was constructed with his hands. Rather, Steve began to believe that the sounds that he was trying so hard to escape from were actually his projected memories, with their source being his mind. All of his repressed feelings, desires, broken dreams, and fragmented memories were stewing underneath the pristine surface that Steve Rogers acted so flawlessly to uphold. Meanwhile, the true torment was slowly eating away at his mask. Without warning, all of the sounds surrounding his tortured being ceased their existence. What was just a din of pure sound was now deathly silent. Steve could have heard a pin drop if he listened carefully enough. He was thankful that the psychological torture had stopped, but he was dismayed when he found that a new one took its place. Steve could no longer move.

Steve tried to wiggle his limbs, attempting to prove to himself that he had control of his body. But, he could not even move his big toe. The sudden paralysis that overtook Steve left him speechless, and he did not have the ability to think straight. His thoughts were all jumbled, and he couldn't comprehend the situation in its entirety. Steve's outstretched arm was cast in the direction of his destination, which was now just outside of his reach. The silhouette of a man stood mere feet from the supersoldier, but yet the figure seemed to be completely unaware of the struggle taking place behind his back. Steve tried once again to move, but this was once again met with failure. However, a new sensation was starting to overtake the blonde as well. As he tried repeatedly to make even the slightest of movements, a small tingling swept over his skin, caressing it and teasing it as it went along. A slight chill ran up Steve's spine at the cool breeze, and he welcomed it at first. Time passed though, and the sensation did not subside. On the contrary, Steve discovered that as the time went by, it seemed as though the pleasantly cool breeze was growing colder. What was once gentle and soft was now harsh and stinging. The freezing air lashed at Steve's skin, and he felt himself growing colder by the second. Steve's eyes glanced down for a second as he heard a slight cracking sound, and his panic increased tenfold. What started forming around his right foot was now creeping up his body, and spreading across the surface at a slow pace. It seemed to have been brought upon him by the strange wind, but Steve did not give a second thought to the location of the source. All he was concerned about now was the ice that was encasing his entire body.

Suddenly, his pure white surroundings had changed into an intense cerulean color. Steve could hear the crash of waves in the open sea as the ice continued to creep up his body. The supersoldier knew immediately where this was from, and he was scared to death that he would not escape the ice, and death a second time. He was in full blown panic at this stage, and with each passing second, the ice was growing thicker. Steve's voice came across his cold lips, and through chattering teeth, desperate to get the attention of the silhouette once more. "Sir," Steve gasped through the cold now putting a vice grip around his lungs. "Help me! Please!" Steve began to yell. The man did not move an inch. At this point, the blonde began to scream for help over and over again. No matter how much he yelled, and pleaded, the man still did not move. The silhouette was stationary. Steve screamed until his throat was completely raw, and once that happened, the ice crept up his neck, and began to cover his face. Steve was completely encased in the ice, and the primal fear he had experience when he was first faced with this terrible fate came rushing back to him. The pure terror was unforgettable, from the crashing of the plane into the unforgiving ice, all the way up until he woke up from his icy prison. Steve's vision began to blacken, and he could barely make out anything past the now foot-thick ice encasing his entire body. But what Steve could see was movement. The silhouette turned around, and it in turn was reaching its hand out, in what looked to Steve like an effort to touch his own hand through the ice. The blonde mustered all the willpower he had remaining to hold firmly to his quickly slipping conscience and focus on the figure moving just beyond the barrier. He saw the hand make contact with the ice in a spot that was directly in line with his own hand, and instantaneously the ice shattered.

As Steve collapsed, he felt gentle hands support him, and carefully guide him down onto the floor. Unconsciousness pulled at the corners of his vision, dragging him under. But as Steve gave in and surrendered the futile fight, he tried to glance up into the face of his rescuer. No matter how hard, he tried could not make out the features that made up his rescuer's face. Steve saw short brunette hair, and he felt the shakiness in the figure's body as careful hands caressed his face and body. Even though he could recognize all of this, the blonde still could not identify this mystery man. All he could hear was the same few words repeated in a familiar, yet comforting low voice. Steve couldn't place the voice, nor did he have the energy to try to do so any longer. After a few more seconds, the blonde went limp in his savior's arms due to exhaustion, and he sank into unconsciousness with the same, steady chant repeating endlessly.

"You're safe now Steve. I've got you and I won't ever let you go again."

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Steve sat up quickly, his body showing signs of a cold sweat. The walls of his room were cloaked in darkness, with only some spots of light from originating from the city surrounding his living space. The darkness was somewhat welcome after the blinding light he had been subjected to. Steve took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm himself down. This was the third time so far during the week that Steve had a nightmare, and each time it was the same dream. Steve knew that each dream began with bright light, and ended with the unforgettable permafrost. But this was the first time that someone had pulled him out of the ice. Not once in the past could he recall being pulled out of his own personal hell. The matter of identifying his rescuer would be addressed later. Presently, Steve glanced around the room in order to reassure himself that he was in fact safe from the ice. Even though he knew that he had been thawed out, Steve was still deathly scared of waking up in the middle of the ocean, stranded in some iceberg or trapped in a cryogenic sleep state. Steve loosened his grip on the bed sheets as he began to calm down, but he had not let go of them completely. The blonde glanced around his bedroom and saw his various sketches hung up on the walls, as well as his desk that was littered with his drawings. The most comforting sight that greeted his eyes was the view of the city outside of his room. As high up as he was, Steve could swear that he had the ability to see almost as far as Clint could. One wall of Steve's room was completely made of glass, courtesy of Tony Stark.

After the Chitauri invasion, Steve had nowhere to go. Nick Fury offered him a job, but he had nowhere to live. To his surprise, Tony Stark had offered to take him in. Steve figured that this offer was due to the fact that Steve technically was a Stark creation. Although the serum wasn't, Howard Stark was the reason why and how Steve ultimately became Captain America. The blonde speculated that the motive for Tony offering him a place to live would be so that Stark could only keep an eye on more of his company property. However, Tony had turned out to be a gracious host. Although most of the time he knew Tony was in his laboratory, Steve could ask nothing more of Tony than was absolutely necessary. The genius had given Steve a wonderful place to stay, and Steve felt in debt to him over this simple fact. He felt that no matter how hard he would try, he knew that he would never be able to repay Tony Stark. In fact, Steve had moved into the apartment in Stark Tower the moment he was told that repairs were complete. Other than move in day, he never saw Tony. But he was still eternally grateful to the Stark household.

Steve rose out of his bed and approached the large glass wall, allowing himself to be bathed in gentle moonlight which was unhindered by any clouds in the night sky. He gazed out above the city, taking in the wonderful sight before his eyes. The noise level at this hour was also significantly diminished, not that Steve would have a problem with noise being on the floor that he was. However, he was calmed by the current tranquility, something that Steve rarely ever experienced. The night sky was clear, but the light pollution from the city prevented any stars from making a nighttime appearance. This slightly upset the blonde, but it was something that he had grown used to as time went on. Still, Steve wished that he could look up and see a sky full of vibrant, radiating stars twinkling in the flawlessly stunning black sky. That was one thing that he got to see when he was in the military. Whenever he was at boot camp or out on missions, he would get to look up into the sky and be greeted by a myriad of amazing lights illuminating the night. That was one tradeoff for the twenty first century: technology for starlight. Steve thought for a moment, wondering if maybe there was something that Tony would be able to do for him. Just one starry sky was all he wanted to see, but Steve knew he couldn't trouble Tony with such a trivial task. Slightly defeated, the blonde headed back to his bed, and climbed underneath the covers.

His head hit the pillow, but any feelings of sleepiness had long since left his body due to the nightmare he had suffered through. Steve tried to adjust his position, and he spread out on his back. The cool sheets brushed up against his every inch of his soft, bare skin, safe for the region that was covered by his American flag boxer shorts. Originally, Steve laughed at the idea of having a national flag on one's underwear, but the comical idea soon became a practical one. Captain America supported the red, white, and blue through and through. His uniform wasn't just the colors of the flag on the outside anymore. Although Steve kept searching for an ideal position to attempt to resume sleeping, not one was effective. The blonde sat up briefly and flipped over his pillow, exposing the cool side in attempts to make him more comfortable. While Steve was not entirely okay with the prospect of something cold touching his skin after his night terrors plagued him, he was exceptionally annoyed with having to sleep on a hot pillow. Sure the pillows were soft, but they made it almost impossible to fall asleep while his head was being warmed up in unorthodox ways. Again Steve shifted, this time onto his side. Simultaneously, the blonde curled his arms into his body, resting the side of his hands against his chest. His knees were slightly bent, and from the current position he was lying in, he would get a fantastic view of the skyline. The skyline had one of the most beautiful sunrises that the supersoldier had ever seen in his entire life. Unfortunately, sleep still managed to avoid him, so he highly doubted that he would get the opportunity to wake up to the sunrise. At the end of his futile journey to find a good night's sleep for once, Steve looked at the alarm clock sitting next to his bed. The bright red numbers proudly pronounced the time to be 3:00 A.M., so Steve knew there were still a couple of hours until sunrise, and ultimately when the other occupants of the tower would be awake. However, he also knew that he was not capable of properly resting in the amount of time he was given. Steve got up out of his bed one last time, and headed over into the bathroom that was attached to his room. He splashed some water in his face to stimulate the rest of his senses, and then he dried his face with a soft towel. Strolling back into his room, Steve grabbed his gym bag that was located near his closet. Steve withdrew a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and promptly putting them on. After he was dressed, he stuffed a towel into the bag, and headed for the door. Another early morning gym session for Steve, and even he admitted that these had become somewhat routine. "Oh well," Steve said plainly, "I didn't want to sleep anyways."

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_**So what did you think? Did you enjoy the first chapter? I know Tony didn't appear much in this chapter at all, but this was just a small look into the causes of Steve's suffering. I must warn you though; there will be more angst in chapters to come. Nightmares are only the beginning for our blonde. Hopefully someone can help him before it's too late? Anyways, anonymous reviews are available, so if you want to, please write one. No flat out hate please. Until next time, REVIEW, FAVORITE, FOLLOW, and enjoy! See ya!**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer: I DO NOT own the Avengers.**_

_**A/N: Hey! So I'm back with another chapter! I'll try to post these as often as possible, but this month was really busy for me! Anyways, it was nice to see a positive reception for the first chapter, and thanks for the reviews guys! They motivate me to post faster and more often. Saving my ranting for the end, please read, REVIEW, FAVORITE, FOLLOW, and enjoy! Here's chapter 2:**_

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_Thud!_

The sound of the forceful impact of Steve's fist on the worn-out leather punching bag echoed throughout the empty gym in Stark Tower. Every muscle in Steve's arm slightly rippled as the shockwave of the punch travelled up his arm, and eventually reached the blonde's upper body. The tape around his knuckles was worn down from the increasingly long workout session and admittedly long "stress release" on the punching bag. Even though he had been awake so long, Steve still could not completely shake the sensations that followed him out of the dream. It had all felt so real, with his friends, his loved ones…even the ice felt too real for him. He shook his head in an attempt to force the thoughts and recollections to recede so he could continue with his workout. However, his body was still being fuelled from adrenaline from the nightmare world he had suffered through.

Steve had regularly occupied the gym every single morning from the day he arrived in Stark Tower. He was thrilled that he would have an adequate facility to exercise in. The far wall of the gym was covered entirely with mirrors that stretched from the ceiling all the way down to the floor. The other walls of the gym were decorated with various posters of famous athletes, boxers, and random motivational posters. True to expectations, the words "Stark Industries" were painted proudly on one of the walls. Over the entire length of his stay in Stark Tower, he had come to discover that Tony never actually used the facility, so he was glad that he could at least put the amazingly outfitted gym to some use.

The blonde's body tensed up as he drew his arm back, ready to strike the bag once more. With his next punch, Steve's impact on the bag was so forceful that the chains holding the bag up broke, and the bag was sent flying into the wall on the opposite side of the gym. As it was flying, Steve witnessed as a slim figure ducked gracefully underneath the projectile, and ultimately avoid being flattened by the bag. "You know," the cold voice came, "you could have at least warned me about unexpected decapitation before I came here."

"Sorry Natasha," Steve rubbed the back of his head apologetically. "I thought I was the only one awake." As he spoke, Natasha made her way across the room, crimson hair bouncing delicately on her head as she took each step. She was dressed in a regular sweatshirt and sweatpants, which Steve admitted was a welcomed break from the usual black jumpsuit that had seemingly become part of her skin. Natasha passed right by Steve and walked over towards a treadmill, turned it on, and promptly began a rather fast paced warm-up run. As she was doing so, Steve set up his eighth punching-bag of the morning, and went back to his previous activity. A few minutes passed, and the only sounds that could be heard in the gym were the hum of the treadmill as it was operated, and rhythmic beat of fists making contact with the bag. This seemed to be a developing morning routine between the two. Every morning, Steve would wake up early, and he'd head to the gym in Stark Tower, and then he would eventually be joined by Natasha. She usually didn't say much, and Steve was never one to pry for conversation because he found it impolite to disrupt others, so their workouts passed by without a word to one another. However, Steve was slightly surprised when he heard the spy speak up.

"So how long have you been up? You look exhausted," she stated plainly. The supersoldier stopped punching the bag, and turned to face her. He picked up his towel and wiped the beads of sweat off of his forehead with the small cloth. Once the towel hit the floor, Steve offered his simple response.

"I've been here for a couple of hours," he started. "But, I didn't sleep much anyways." Steve shrugged his shoulders, and began to unravel the bandages around his hands. He figured that he had had a long enough workout, and that he deserved to stop for now. The blonde walked over to the trash can, and threw out the bandages, before turning back to Natasha. "Was it really that obvious?"

"Well for starters," Natasha replied, "the circles under your eyes are really dark this morning." She pointed over towards the wall momentarily before continuing. "Also, there's usually only one punching bag over there by the time I come down here. So I figured either you were really frustrated when you woke up, and destroyed all of those with a single punch, or you've been up long enough to go through this many. The second one seemed more likely to me."

"Frustration wouldn't be the right word here, but you were spot on with your second theory," Steve responded shyly. He sat down on the bench where his bag was located, and began to unlace his shoes. Each shoe and sock was replaced by a flip flop, and the shoes were placed at the bottom of the bag. Steve wiped his face one more time with the towel, and then he threw it into the bag as well. The blonde turned to leave the gym, and started walking. However, he was halted once again by the voice of Natasha.

"Are you okay?" the spy inquired in a softer voice. "You haven't quite been…yourself lately, you know that? I mean you seem…"

"I'm fine," Steve cut her off quickly, in a solemn tone of voice. "Nothing has changed. Nothing is wrong. I'm fine." He left the room without another word, hoping to retreat away from the increasingly curious Russian femme fatale.

"I wish I could believe that."

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Steve finished his post-workout shower, and threw on some comfortable morning clothes. Dressed in black sweatpants and a grey t-shirt, Steve left his room and headed for the kitchen area. Being closer to the top floor, the kitchen and common room was a centralized location where the entire group would usually hang out whenever they had the day off from a mission. So Steve made his way up, threw on an apron, and went to work. Another thing that Steve usually did for everyone every morning was make breakfast. Thor would eat practically anything short of the kitchenware, but Natasha and the others liked the stereotypical eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage, and all of the normal breakfast foods. Of course, while it was varied each morning, they happily ate whatever Steve had to offer. Tony on the other hand, was a very different story.

Steve would make breakfast every morning, and all of the members of their dysfunctional family would be there to eat it. Not Tony. Tony would always be down in his lab working on some high tech gizmo or gadget, slaving away to the monotonous statistics rattled off by JARVIS and the clanking of metal on metal. Of course Steve was worried about Tony skipping breakfast, the most important meal of the day, so he would bring whatever he had made down to Tony and try to get him to eat it. Unfortunately, Tony always tried to fight him and argue that his work was more important than eating, but Steve wouldn't accept that logic. After a few minutes of intense arguing about food, Steve would give up, and leave whatever dish he had prepared downstairs, along with a piping hot cup of coffee. Even though Steve could never get Tony to eat the food while he was down there, the plate was always empty when it came back up. Whether or not Tony threw the food away, Steve had no idea of knowing. However, he trusted that Tony would eventually give into even his most basic needs and eat the food himself.

The blonde walked over to the stove and turned it on. He fished out a pan from one of the cabinets and grabbed some ingredients out of the refrigerator. Immediately, he set the ingredients down on the counter and fished out a spatula and a butter knife from a drawer. He cut a tiny portion of butter from the butter stick, and placed it in the pan, melting it. Next, Steve cracked some eggs, and started cooking them in the skillet, moving them around with the spatula. He started a second skillet up, and began cooking bacon and sausage. The third burner was used for more eggs, but these eggs were cooked sunny side up. He had a saucepan going to make some hollandaise sauce to dress the eggs for Natasha. Each of the Avengers liked their eggs a different way. Clint liked them poached, but Natasha liked eggs benedict. Bruce preferred omelets, while Thor ate them scrambled. Nobody knew exactly what Tony liked, but then again, Tony never actually asked for them in the first place. Steve paused for a moment. '_Maybe Pepper would know. I should ask her sometime so I can make him at least somewhat happy_,' he thought briefly. Just then, a timer went off, and Steve removed the hollandaise sauce from the stove, while placing an English muffin in the toaster for Natasha.

Just as he had placed the English muffin in, Clint walked into the room. He shuffled his slipper-covered feet across the floor, and made his way over towards the bar separating the kitchen from the living space. Clint sat down at the first chair, and his forehead immediately hit the table. "Coffee…is it done?" he groaned. Another timer went off, and Steve removed the coffee pot from the machine before pouring Clint a cup.

"Do you want any cream or sugar?" Steve asked in reply.

"No thanks," Clint groaned again, desperate for his morning pick-me-up.

"Okay," Steve nodded. He slid the cup across the counter and directly into the hand of Clint. "Just warning you, it's still hot." Clint blew on the hot liquid for a few seconds before taking a few sips of the dark drink. He sighed in relief, and began to drink more. Steve began to whistle as he finished off Clint's poached eggs. He placed a couple pieces of bacon on the plate, and served up the archer's breakfast, which was received with a hearty thank you. As Steve turned back to the hot stove, Natasha waltzed into the room. He plated her breakfast as well, and made her a quick cup of chai tea. When she sat down, she spoke up briefly. "Hello again Steve. Good morning Clint."

"Hey Nat!" Clint greeted happily, now a little perkier due to his morning coffee. "How was your workout?"

"Exceedingly normal," she said plainly. She began to cut into her eggs, and slowly ate her breakfast. "But Steve here was being a human demolition company, and went through almost ten bags this morning alone."

"Wow Steve," Clint said with a smirk. "That's a little overboard for you don't you think?" Steve's cheeks started turning a bright shade of red, out of sheer embarrassment. Luckily for him, a loud voice cut into the conversation.

"Nonsense!" Thor boomed. "I've gone through many a training partner when I wish to practice my battle skills! You have nothing to be ashamed of my blonde Midgardian friend!" Thor sat down and began to shovel his breakfast into his mouth, pausing only slightly to down a full cup of coffee. "This drink…I like it!"

"DON'T SMASH IT!" Steve yelled as he saw Thor's arm draw back, taking the thunder god by surprise. "I…I mean…don't smash it please. It's one of Tony's cups, and I just don't think we should always break his stuff…"

"You have a point there!" Thor laughed. "My apologies to the Man of Iron!"

"But none of you are as destructive as I can be," Bruce chimed in as he entered the room. "If…the other guy ever takes over…I'm pretty sure I'd level this entire tower within minutes."

"Well let's hope that doesn't happen," Natasha stated. "If it does, who knows how Stark would retaliate."

"One does not simply damage the Man of Iron's ego and live to tell the tale," Thor agreed.

"Caw caw motherfuckers," Clint added. "He'd never be able to find me if I did anything."

"I think the only one who wouldn't get away with it is Steve here," Natasha proposed. "I mean…you're not stealthy like Barton and I. You can't fly like Thor, and you can't destroy buildings with a single punch like Banner here." Steve lowered his head. He knew when he had been insulted, but he didn't let it get the better of him entirely.

"I wouldn't get away with it because I wouldn't do it in the first place," he responded. "And if I did, I would tell him instead of pawning the blame off on someone else."

"Come on Steve," Clint snapped. "The man has enough money to build a shit ton of these towers. So I highly doubt that he couldn't pay to replace a measly coffee cup."

"Well…" Steve faltered slightly at the gang-up on Tony. "I still think we should respect his stuff. He did agree to give us all a home to come to."

"But there was even some egotism in that act too," Natasha argued. "You have to admit…Tony likes showing off. Bringing us to his tower was one of the best ways he could do that. It's like he's saying…"

"Like he's saying 'Look at all this awesome shit you guys don't have and I do!' right to our faces," Clint finished. "With Tony, I wouldn't rule it out."

"Even still!" Steve tried hard to back up Tony, although he wasn't entirely sure as to why he decided to do so. He just felt like the man deserved someone to defend him when he wasn't there. "I think you shouldn't just…THOR! Plate down too! Don't shatter it!" Steve's hand was already on the table by the moment Thor drew his hand back, ready to catch the plate before the thunder god slammed it down, but the plate never came.

"It amuses me to see you so concerned over this porcelain platter," Thor chuckled. "You truly are a good friend our genius at work."

"Speaking of which," Steve interrupted. "I have to go take his breakfast to him now. Please don't break anything while I'm gone." With those words, he plated Tony's breakfast and poured a nice cup of coffee for the genius. He left the coffee black, but grabbed the creamer in case Tony wanted some. Once he grabbed anything the genius could need for his coffee, he turned to head to Tony's lab.

"Rogers," Natasha called after the supersoldier. "What about your breakfast?" Steve stood still where he was located for a second, before offering his reply without even turning around as to as much as glance at his interrogator.

"I'm not hungry," Steve said coldly, and headed off towards Tony's lab.

* * *

"Tony?" Steve called into the large laboratory, only to have his call muffled by the sound of a drill on some metallic surface. The blonde scanned the large lab in order to find the source of the sound, but it took him a moment to locate it. Steve started crossing the room towards Tony, in order to deliver the regular morning meal to the genius, and hopefully he would eat it this time. "Tony, are you okay?"

"DAMN MECHANICAL ARM!"

Steve smiled to himself as he heard the genius' random outburst of anger directed towards one of his many robots. From the looks of it, the DUM-E working on Tony's Iron Man suit had made one of the parts too tight, sealing the genius inside of the suit entirely, with no means of escape. Steve placed the breakfast on the work table, and set the cup of coffee aside before Tony's call came. "Cap! Perfect timing," Tony chimed. "Do you think you can help me here?"

"The great Tony Stark needs my help?" Steve pondered aloud. "I thought that you could handle yourself." Steve turned his back towards the genius. While he did feel grateful to the genius, he did like to humble him every once and a while. "How long have you been stuck like that, Stark?"

"Uhhh…" Tony stammered. "Let's just say I've been here for an hour or so."

"An hour?" Steve laughed, feeling happy that he saw through a possible and blatant Stark lie. "Come on Mr. Stark, how long have you really been in there?"

"Three hours."

"Huh?"

"Yep," Tony confessed. "This stupid robot tightened the torso too much. I've been trying to get out ever since, but something is wrong with the metal bastard's programming." He paused and nodded his head towards the DUM-E approaching the trapped genius from behind. "He keeps tightening when he should be loosening the suit. So can I please have some help now?"

"Wow," the supersoldier teased. "Tony Stark actually saying 'please' in a request. Now I know you're desperate." Steve crossed over to Tony, assessing the suit and trying to figure out exactly where he was welded shut. As the genius had explained, the torso had been tightly sealed, making the arms almost immobile. Both of the brunette's arms stuck straight out to the side, and the look on his face was somewhat pathetic, but still arrogant. "Fine, but I'm not responsible for what happens to your suit."

"Just help me out of the damn thing!" Tony pleaded. "So I can finish my work!"

"Okay," Steve nodded. He placed his hands on either side of Tony's arm, and firmly grasped the sides of the arm socket. "I'm going to pull on three. One…two…three!" Steve yanked apart the torso with all of his strength, but even so it still took a few seconds to do so. Once that side was open, Steve went over to the other side and repeated the process. From there, Tony's other robots finished the job of removing the suit. The brunette shook his arms as he was freed from the suit, enjoying the renewed circulation to his limbs.

Steve quickly looked over the genius to observe his conditions. No one had seen Tony out of the laboratory in quite a while, and his body showed signs of it. His handsome and fair face had a few grease stains on it, and there were oil stains on his once pristine white tank top. Tony's matted hair had almost become flat, and he had a considerable amount of stubble on his face that did not include his goatee. The back of Tony's tank top was hanging out over his dark jeans, with a wrench wedged between his belt and his pants pocket. Tony raised a hand and rubbed his head a few times, contemplating the situation from which Steve had just helped him out of. The thought passed quickly, and he took a step towards the blonde.

"Thanks Cap! I owe you one," Tony patted Steve on the shoulder, and then returned to his work station.

"How about eating your breakfast?" Steve suggested softly.

"No thanks," Tony quickly replied. "When I mean owe you one, I meant something that is more important than a quick meal. I don't need to eat. Really, I'm full."

"When was the last time?"

"About two days ago," Tony admitted. "But I've been so focused on my work that I haven't eaten a bite. I'm only running on coffee and other various forms of caffeine right now. Don't give me that look Cap. I'm a grown man."

"What about the food I bring down?" Steve asked. "I always bring down food. Admittedly I don't see you, but I always leave food in your lab, and when I return for the plate, the food is gone. You are too, but the main thing is the food is gone. Have you at least eaten that?"

"Nope," Tony confessed. "Not a single bite in these past few days."

"Then how come it's always gone when I come back down?" the blonde inquired. "Every single time I come back down, the food is always gone…I thought you ate it…"

"Well I don't exactly eat much when I'm working Cap," Tony said platonically. "Maybe JARVIS knows what happened."

"You threw it away sir," JARVIS responded on cue. "You said it was a waste of time and effort to make and eat food while working on something so important. The coffee however, you always saved and drank quickly."

"Traitor…" Tony mumbled silently, and then turned to face the sure to be furious Steve Rogers. "Look, I know I haven't been eating it, but still! I don't think you should get angry at me every time I don't consume an egg like you want!" But Steve wasn't angry. He looked…spacey. Steve's tired face betrayed his seriousness, and his prepared criticism of Tony fell through before he even began to put it into words. He was too exhausted from his nightmares and sleepless nights to care. It was true what Natasha had said earlier, about the circles under his eyes. While Steve had initially denied it, he knew they were getting darker. His worn out body was also reacting to the lack of his own primitive necessities. His muscles ached slightly, and his psyche was constantly on edge. "Steve…are you okay?"

Tony's concern snapped Steve back to reality. Not only had Tony expressed concern, but he had actually used the supersoldier's name, which was quite possibly one of the only times he had ever heard Tony say it. He didn't like it. He didn't like making Tony worry. He didn't like making anyone worry about him, but Steve drew the line at Tony. Steve didn't like to feel like he was so weak that someone who barely acknowledged others worried about him. To Steve, it didn't feel like concern. It felt like pity.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Steve snapped coldly. "I'm fine."

"Well," Tony started. "I heard you go down to the gym really early this morning. You don't have enough energy to argue with me over your prepared morning meal. And then there was the screaming."

"W-what screaming? What are you talking about?" Steve demanded an answer, his hands balling into fists behind his back.

"This," Tony pulled up a screen, and addressed his AI. "JARVIS, playback video SR314462."

"Video SR314462 is playing sir."

Steve's jaw dropped as the scene unfurled on the screen in front of him. The red numbers on the digital clock in the video proudly displayed the time. It was about 2:30 A.M. in the video, and the clock was his clock. The video was of Steve's room. Steve's body was rolling around in the bed, clasping onto the sheets and pulling desperately at something. It seemed as though he were clawing at his own body, and Steve seemed to be hyperventilating. Next came the bloodcurdling screams and pleas that erupted from Steve's throat until his screaming made his throat raw. The blonde wanted to look away, but he knew now exactly what was happening. It was his nightmare. After a few more minutes, the video ended, and Tony was staring directly at Steve.

"What is it Steve? Do you need to talk?"

"How…" Steve faltered. "Why…why were you…?"

"There are cameras in everyone's room for safety reasons. I told JARVIS to keep me on alert, begin recording, and notify me in case someone seems to be under any extreme stress. I saw all of this live this morning," Tony revealed. "And it hasn't just been this morning."

"I think we're done here," Steve said. He turned his back to leave, but Tony placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Steve, wait."

"I SAID WE'RE DONE HERE!" Steve yelled as he swat Tony's hand off of his shoulder and bolted out of the room.

"JARVIS," Tony spoke up once Steve had left the premises, a genuine tenderness and concern holding fast in his voice. "Keep a close eye on Steve."

* * *

_**So what did you think? I'm SOOOOO SORRY I couldn't get this out earlier. January is my second busiest month of the year, and this year it was even busier. But even so, I have written chapter 3 and 4 in advance as well, so it shouldn't take a month for me to publish the next chapter! Besides, February is very mellow for me. Anyways, please leave a review telling me what you thought of the chapter or PM me any questions (I don't bite). Anonymous reviews are available, so if you want to, please write one. No flat out hate please. Until next time, REVIEW, FAVORITE, FOLLOW, and enjoy! See ya!**_


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